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ELECBOOK CLASSICS

Northanger
Abbey
Jane Austen

ISBN 1 901843 10 6

©The Electric Book Company 2001

The Electric Book Company Ltd
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Jane Austen: Northanger Abbey 3

Northanger Abbey

Volume I
Chapter I. Catherine Morland, an unlikely heroine,
goes to Bath with the Allens 7
Chapter II. Catherine and Mrs Allen go to a ball 13
Chapter III. Catherine dances and talks with Mr Tilney 21
Chapter IV. Mrs Allen meets Mrs Thorpe; Catherine
meets Isabella Thorpe 27
Chapter V. Catherine and Isabella fast friends; a discourse
on novels 32
Chapter VI. In the Pump-room 37
Chapter VII. James Morland and John Thorpe arrive
in Bath 43
Chapter VIII. Catherine meets Henry Tilney again, but
has to dance with Thorpe 53
Chapter IX. On a drive with Thorpe, Catherine misses
the Tilneys 62
Chapter X. Catherine dances again with Tilney; his
father, the General, in Bath 73
Chapter XI. A drive with the Thorpes, missing a walk
with the Tilneys 86
Chapter XII. Catherine apologises to Tilney at the theatre 96
Chapter XIII. Catherine refuses to go to Bristol at the
expense of the Tilneys 103
Chapter XIV. Catherine finally walks with the Tilneys 113
Chapter XV. Isabella engaged to James Morland 124
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Volume II
Chapter I. Catherine dines at the Tilneys; Captain Tilney
arrives; a settlement bestowed on James and Isabella 135
Chapter II. Catherine invited to Northanger Abbey 145
Chapter III. Catherine learns of John’s affection; Isabella
flirts with Captain Tilney 150
Chapter IV. Catherine speaks to Henry about Captain
Tilney and Isabella 157
Chapter V. To Northanger Abbey; Catherine rides
with Henry 163
Chapter VI. Catherine explores her room at the Abbey! 174
Chapter VII. Henry removes to Woodston; A walk round
the Abbey with the General 184
Chapter VIII. A tour of the house; Catherine imagines
all manner of things 196
Chapter IX. Henry catches Catherine in his deceased
mother’s room 205
Chapter X. A letter from James; his engagement is off,
Captain Tilney named 215
Chapter XI. A trip to Woodston 225
Chapter XII. A duplicitous letter from Isabella; Captain
Tilney returned to his regiment 234
Chapter XIII. General Tilney orders Catherine from the
Abbey! 239
Chapter XIV. Catherine arrives home 251
Chapter XV. Henry Tilney arrives at Fullerton and
proposes to Catherine 262

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Chapter XVI. Henry and Catherine marry following Eleanor’s

marriage and the General’s eventual consent 272

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Jane Austen: Northanger Abbey 6

ADVERTISEMENT,
BY THE AUTHORESS,
TO

NORTHANGER ABBEY

THIS little work was finished in the year 1803, and intended for
immediate publication. It was disposed of to a bookseller, it was
even advertised, and why the business proceeded no farther, the
author has never been able to learn. That any bookseller should
think it worth-while to purchase what he did not think it worth-
while to publish seems extraordinary. But with this, neither the
author nor the public have any other concern than as some
observation is necessary upon those parts of the work which
thirteen years have made comparatively obsolete. The public are
entreated to bear in mind that thirteen years have passed since it
was finished, many more since it was begun, and that during that
period, places, manners, books, and opinions have undergone
considerable changes.

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Jane Austen: Northanger Abbey 7

NORTHANGER
ABBEY

VOLUME I

CHAPTER I

N
o one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her
infancy would have supposed her born to be an heroine.
Her situation in life, the character of her father and
mother, her own person and disposition, were all equally against
her. Her father was a clergyman, without being neglected, or poor,
and a very respectable man, though his name was Richard—and
he had never been handsome. He had a considerable
independence besides two good livings—and he was not in the
least addicted to locking up his daughters. Her mother was a
woman of useful plain sense, with a good temper, and, what is
more remarkable, with a good constitution. She had three sons
before Catherine was born; and instead of dying in bringing the
latter into the world, as anybody might expect, she still lived on—
lived to have six children more—to see them growing up around
her, and to enjoy excellent health herself. A family of ten children

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Jane Austen: Northanger Abbey 8

will be always called a fine family, where there are heads and arms
and legs enough for the number; but the Morlands had little other
right to the word, for they were in general very plain, and
Catherine, for many years of her life, as plain as any. She had a
thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark lank hair,
and strong features;—so much for her person;—and not less
unpropitious for heroism seemed her mind. She was fond of all
boy’s plays, and greatly preferred cricket not merely to dolls, but
to the more heroic enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dormouse,
feeding a canary-bird, or watering a rose-bush. Indeed she had no
taste for a garden; and if she gathered flowers at all, it was chiefly
for the pleasure of mischief—at least so it was conjectured from
her always preferring those which she was forbidden to take.—
Such were her propensities—her abilities were quite as
extraordinary. She never could learn or understand anything
before she was taught; and sometimes not even then, for she was
often inattentive, and occasionally stupid. Her mother was three
months in teaching her only to repeat the “Beggar’s Petition”; and
after all, her next sister, Sally, could say it better than she did. Not
that Catherine was always stupid,—by no means; she learnt the
fable of “The Hare and Many Friends” as quickly as any girl in
England. Her mother wished her to learn music; and Catherine
was sure she should like it, for she was very fond of tinkling the
keys of the old forlorn spinner; so, at eight years old she began.
She learnt a year, and could not bear it;—and Mrs. Morland, who
did not insist on her daughters being accomplished in spite of
incapacity or distaste, allowed her to leave off. The day which
dismissed the music-master was one of the happiest of Catherine’s
life. Her taste for drawing was not superior; though whenever she
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could obtain the outside of a letter from her mother, or seize upon
any other odd piece of paper, she did what she could in that way,
by drawing houses and trees, hens and chickens, all very much
like one another.—Writing and accounts she was taught by her
father; French by her mother: her proficiency in either was not
remarkable, and she shirked her lessons in both whenever she
could. What a strange, unaccountable character!—for with all
these symptoms of profligacy at ten years old, she had neither a
bad heart nor a bad temper, was seldom stubborn, scarcely ever
quarrelsome, and very kind to the little ones, with few
interruptions of tyranny; she was moreover noisy and wild, hated
confinement and cleanliness, and loved nothing so well in the
world as rolling down the green slope at the back of the house.
Such was Catherine Morland at ten. At fifteen, appearances
were mending; she began to curl her hair and long for balls; her
complexion improved, her features were softened by plumpness
and colour, her eyes gained more animation, and her figure more
consequence. Her love of dirt gave way to an inclination for finery,
and she grew clean as she grew smart; she had now the pleasure
of sometimes hearing her father and mother remark on her
personal improvement. “Catherine grows quite a good-looking
girl,—she is almost pretty today,” were words which caught her
ears now and then; and how welcome were the sounds! To look
almost pretty is an acquisition of higher delight to a girl who has
been looking plain the first fifteen years of her life than a beauty
from her cradle can ever receive.
Mrs. Morland was a very good woman, and wished to see her
children every thing they ought to be; but her time was so much
occupied in lying-in and teaching the little ones, that her elder
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daughters were inevitably left to shift for themselves; and it was

not very wonderful that Catherine, who had by nature nothing
heroic about her, should prefer cricket, base ball, riding on
horseback, and running about the country at the age of fourteen,
to books—or at least books of information—for, provided that
nothing like useful knowledge could be gained from them,
provided they were all story and no reflection, she had never any
objection to books at all. But from fifteen to seventeen she was in
training for a heroine; she read all such works as heroines must
read to supply their memories with those quotations which are so
serviceable and so soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful
lives.
From Pope, she learnt to censure those who
“bear about the mockery of woe.”
From Gray, that
“Many a flower is born to blush unseen,
“And waste its fragrance on the desert air.”
From Thompson, that
—“It is a delightful task
“To teach the young idea how to shoot.”
And from Shakespeare she gained a great store of information—
amongst the rest, that
—“Trifles light as air,
“Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong,
“As proofs of Holy Writ.”
That
“The poor beetle, which we tread upon,
“In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great
“As when a giant dies.”
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And that a young woman in love always looks

—“like Patience on a monument
“Smiling at Grief.”

So far her improvement was sufficient—and in many other

points she came on exceedingly well; for though she could not
write sonnets, she brought herself to read them; and though there
seemed no chance of her throwing a whole party into raptures by
a prelude on the pianoforté, of her own composition, she could
listen to other people’s performance with very little fatigue. Her
greatest deficiency was in the pencil—she had no notion of
drawing—not enough even to attempt a sketch of her lover’s
profile, that she might be detected in the design. There she fell
miserably short of the true heroic height. At present she did not
know her own poverty, for she had no lover to portray. She had
reached the age of seventeen, without having seen one amiable
youth who could call forth her sensibility, without having inspired
one real passion, and without having excited even any admiration
but what was very moderate and very transient. This was strange
indeed! But strange things may be generally accounted for if their
cause be fairly searched out. There was not one lord in the
neighbourhood; no—not even a baronet. There was not one family
among their acquaintance who had reared and supported a boy
accidentally found at their door—not one young man whose origin
was unknown. Her father had no ward, and the squire of the
parish no children.
But when a young lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of
forty surrounding families cannot prevent her. Something must
and will happen to throw a hero in her way.
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Mr. Allen, who owned the chief of the property about Fullerton,
the village in Wiltshire where the Morlands lived, was ordered to
Bath for the benefit of a gouty constitution;—and his lady, a good-
humoured woman, fond of Miss Morland, and probably aware that
if adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she
must seek them abroad, invited her to go with them. Mr. and Mrs.
Morland were all compliance, and Catherine all happiness.

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CHAPTER II

I
n addition to what has been already said of Catherine
Morland’s personal and mental endowments, when about to
be launched into all the difficulties and dangers of a six weeks’
residence in Bath, it may be stated, for the reader’s more certain
information, lest the following pages should otherwise fail of
giving any idea of what her character is meant to be, that her heart
was affectionate, her disposition cheerful and open, without
conceit or affectation of any kind—her manners just removed from
the awkwardness and shyness of a girl; her person pleasing, and,
when in good looks, pretty—and her mind about as ignorant and
uninformed as the female mind at seventeen usually is.
When the hour of departure drew near, the maternal anxiety of
Mrs. Morland will be naturally supposed to be most severe. A
thousand alarming presentiments of evil to her beloved Catherine
from this terrific separation must oppress her heart with sadness,
and drown her in tears for the last day or two of their being
together; and advice of the most important and applicable nature
must of course flow from her wise lips in their parting conference
in her closet. Cautions against the violence of such noblemen and
baronets as delight in forcing young ladies away to some remote
farm-house, must, at such a moment, relieve the fulness of her
heart. Who would not think so? But Mrs. Morland knew so little of
lords and baronets, that she entertained no notion of their general
mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspicious of danger to her
daughter from their machinations. Her cautions were confined to

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Jane Austen: Northanger Abbey 14

the following points. “I beg, Catherine, you will always wrap

yourself up very warm about the throat, when you come from the
Rooms at night; and I wish you would try to keep some account of
the money you spend;—I will give you this little book on purpose.
Sally, or rather Sarah (for what young lady of common gentility
will reach the age of sixteen without altering her name as far as
she can?), must from situation be at this time the intimate friend
and confidante of her sister. It is remarkable, however, that she
neither insisted on Catherine’s writing by every post, nor exacted
her promise of transmitting the character of every new
acquaintance, nor a detail of every interesting conversation that
Bath might produce. Every thing indeed relative to this important
journey was done, on the part of the Morlands, with a degree of
moderation and composure, which seemed rather consistent with
the common feelings of common life, than with the refined
susceptibilities, the tender emotions which the first separation of a
heroine from her family ought always to excite. Her father, instead
of giving her an unlimited order on his banker, or even putting an
hundred pounds bank-bill into her hands, gave her only ten
guineas, and promised her more when she wanted it.
Under these unpromising auspices, the parting took place, and
the journey began. It was performed with suitable quietness and
uneventful safety. Neither robbers nor tempests befriended them,
nor one lucky overturn to introduce them to the hero. Nothing
more alarming occurred than a fear, on Mrs. Allen’s side, of having
once left her clogs behind her at an inn, and that fortunately
proved to be groundless.
They arrived at Bath. Catherine was all eager delight;—her
eyes were here, there, every where, as they approached its fine
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and striking environs, and afterwards drove through those streets

which conducted them to the hotel. She was come to be happy,
and she felt happy already.
They were soon settled in comfortable lodgings in Pulteney-
street.
It is now expedient to give some description of Mrs. Allen, that
the reader may be able to judge in what manner her actions will
hereafter tend to promote the general distress of the work, and
how she will, probably, contribute to reduce poor Catherine to all
the desperate wretchedness of which a last volume is capable—
whether by her imprudence, vulgarity, or jealousy—whether by
intercepting her letters, ruining her character, or turning her out
of doors.
Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class of females, whose
society can raise no other emotion than surprise at there being
any men in the world who could like them well enough to marry
them. She had neither beauty, genius, accomplishment, nor
manner. The air of a gentlewoman, a great deal of quiet, inactive
good temper, and a trifling turn of mind were all that could
account for her being the choice of a sensible, intelligent man like
Mr. Allen. In one respect she was admirably fitted to introduce a
young lady into public, being as fond of going every where and
seeing every thing herself as any young lady could be. Dress was
her passion. She had a most harmless delight in being fine; and
our heroine’s entrée into life could not take place till after three or
four days had been spent in learning what was mostly worn, and
her chaperone was provided with a dress of the newest fashion.
Catherine too made some purchases herself, and when all these
matters were arranged, the important evening came which was to
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usher her into the Upper Rooms. Her hair was cut and dressed by
the best hand, her clothes put on with care, and both Mrs. Allen
and her maid declared she looked quite as she should do. With
such encouragement, Catherine hoped at least to pass uncensured
through the crowd. As for admiration, it was always very welcome
when it came, but she did not depend on it.
Mrs. Allen was so long in dressing that they did not enter the
ball-room till late. The season was full, the room crowded, and the
two ladies squeezed in as well as they could. As for Mr. Allen, he
repaired directly to the card-room, and left them to enjoy a mob by
themselves. With more care for the safety of her new gown than
for the comfort of her protegée, Mrs. Allen made her way through
the throng of men by the door, as swiftly as the necessary caution
would allow; Catherine, however, kept close at her side, and linked
her arm too firmly within her friend’s to be torn asunder by any
common effort of a struggling assembly. But to her utter
amazement she found that to proceed along the room was by no
means the way to disengage themselves from the crowd; it seemed
rather to increase as they went on, whereas she had imagined that
when once fairly within the door, they should easily find seats and
be able to watch the dances with perfect convenience. But this was
far from being the case, and though by unwearied diligence they
gained even the top of the room, their situation was just the same;
they saw nothing of the dancers but the high feathers of some of
the ladies. Still they moved on—something better was yet in view;
and by a continued exertion of strength and ingenuity they found
themselves at last in the passage behind the highest bench. Here
there was something less of crowd than below; and hence Miss
Morland had a comprehensive view of all the company beneath
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her, and of all the dangers of her late passage through them. It was
a splendid sight, and she began, for the first time that evening, to
feel herself at a ball: she longed to dance, but she had not an
acquaintance in the room. Mrs. Allen did all that she could do in
such a case by saying very placidly, every now and then, “I wish
you could dance, my dear—I wish you could get a partner.” For
some time her young friend felt obliged to her for these wishes;
but they were repeated so often, and proved so totally ineffectual,
that Catherine grew tired at last, and would thank her no more.
They were not long able, however, to enjoy the repose of the
eminence they had so laboriously gained.—Every body was shortly
in motion for tea, and they must squeeze out like the rest.
Catherine began to feel something of disappointment—she was
tired of being continually pressed against by people, the generality
of whose faces possessed nothing to interest, and with all of whom
she was so wholly unacquainted that she could not relieve the
irksomeness of imprisonment by the exchange of a syllable with
any of her fellow captives; and when at last arrived in the tea-
room, she felt yet more the awkwardness of having no party to
join, no acquaintance to claim, no gentleman to assist them.—
They saw nothing of Mr. Allen; and after looking about them in
vain for a more eligible situation, were obliged to sit down at the
end of a table, at which a large party were already placed, without
having any thing to do there, or any body to speak to, except each
other.
Mrs. Allen congratulated herself, as soon as they were seated,
on having preserved her gown from injury. “It would have been
very shocking to have it torn,” said she, “would not it?—It is such
a delicate muslin.—For my part I have not seen anything I like so
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well in the whole room, I assure you.”

“How uncomfortable it is,” whispered Catherine, “not to have a
single acquaintance here!”
“Yes, my dear,” replied Mrs. Allen, with perfect serenity, “it is
very uncomfortable indeed.”
“What shall we do?—The gentlemen and ladies at this table
look as if they wondered why we came here—we seem forcing
ourselves into their party.”
“Aye, so we do.—That is very disagreeable. I wish we had a
large acquaintance here.”
“I wish we had any;—it would be somebody to go to.”
“Very true, my dear; and if we knew anybody we would join
them directly. The Skinners were here last year—I wish they were
here now.”
“Had not we better go away as it is?—Here are no tea-things for
us, you see.”
“No more there are, indeed.—How very provoking! But I think
we had better sit still, for one gets so tumbled in such a crowd!
How is my head, my dear?—Somebody gave me a push that has
hurt it, I am afraid.”
“No, indeed, it looks very nice.—But, dear Mrs. Allen, are you
sure there is nobody you know in all this multitude of people? I
think you must know somebody.”
“I don’t, upon my word—I wish I did. I wish I had a large
acquaintance here with all my heart, and then I should get you a
partner.—I should be so glad to have you dance. There goes a
strange-looking woman! What an odd gown she has got on!—How
old-fashioned it is! Look at the back.”
After some time they received an offer of tea from one of their
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Jane Austen: Northanger Abbey 19

neighbours; it was thankfully accepted, and this introduced a light

conversation with the gentleman who offered it, which was the
only time that any body spoke to them during the evening, till they
were discovered and joined by Mr. Allen when the dance was over.
“Well, Miss Morland,” said he, directly, “I hope you have had an
agreeable ball.”
“Very agreeable indeed,” she replied, vainly endeavouring to
hide a great yawn.
“I wish she had been able to dance,” said his wife, “I wish we
could have got a partner for her.—I have been saying how glad I
should be if the Skinners were here this winter instead of last; or if
the Parrys had come, as they talked of once, she might have
danced with George Parry. I am so sorry she has not had a
partner!”
“We shall do better another evening I hope,” was Mr. Allen’s
consolation.
The company began to disperse when the dancing was over—
enough to leave space for the remainder to walk about in some
comfort; and now was the time for a heroine, who had not yet
played a very distinguished part in the events of the evening, to be
noticed and admired. Every five minutes, by removing some of the
crowd, gave greater openings for her charms. She was now seen
by many young men who had not been near her before. Not one,
however, started with rapturous wonder on beholding her, no
whisper of eager inquiry ran round the room, nor was she once
called a divinity by anybody. Yet Catherine was in very good looks,
and had the company only seen her three years before, they would
now have thought her exceedingly handsome.
She was looked at, however, and with some admiration; for, in
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her own hearing, two gentlemen pronounced her to be a pretty

girl. Such words had their due effect; she immediately thought the
evening pleasanter than she had found it before—her humble
vanity was contented—she felt more obliged to the two young men
for this simple praise than a true-quality heroine would have been
for fifteen sonnets in celebration of her charms, and went to her
chair in good humour with every body, and perfectly satisfied with
her share of public attention.

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CHAPTER III

E
very morning now brought its regular duties;—shops were
to be visited; some new part of the town to be looked at;
and the Pump-room to be attended, where they paraded
up and down for an hour, looking at every body and speaking to
no one. The wish of a numerous acquaintance in Bath was still
uppermost with Mrs. Allen, and she repeated it after every fresh
proof, which every morning brought, of her knowing nobody at all.
They made their appearance in the Lower Rooms; and here
fortune was more favourable to our heroine. The master of the
ceremonies introduced to her a very gentlemanlike young man as
a partner;—his name was Tilney. He seemed to be about four or
five and twenty, was rather tall, had a pleasing countenance, a
very intelligent and lively eye, and, if not quite handsome, was
very near it. His address was good, and Catherine felt herself in
high luck. There was little leisure for speaking while they danced;
but when they were seated at tea, she found him as agreeable as
she had already given him credit for being. He talked with fluency
and spirit—and there was an archness and pleasantry in his
manner which interested, though it was hardly understood by her.
After chatting some time on such matters as naturally arose from
the objects around them, he suddenly addressed her with—“I have
hitherto been very remiss, madam, in the proper attentions of a
partner here; I have not yet asked you how long you have been in
Bath; whether you were ever here before; whether you have been
at the Upper Rooms, the theatre, and the concert; and how you

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